


Holding the Moon

by fem_castielnovak



Series: The Hunter and The God of the Moon [1]
Category: Greek and Roman Mythology, Supernatural
Genre: Asexual Character, M/M, No Sex, ace!cas, cas as artemis, dean as orion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-05
Updated: 2015-04-05
Packaged: 2018-03-21 07:46:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3683949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fem_castielnovak/pseuds/fem_castielnovak
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is Orion. Cas is Artemis. Stick them alone under a blue moon and watch the hunter try to not be obvious about his feelings for his asexual best friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Holding the Moon

Dean was afraid.  
Struck with a holy terror.

How dare he? How _dare_ he feel this way? Think these thoughts?

He, bastard son, and grandson of a mortal king  - merely a hunter, owner of a patchwork soul and eyes remade with pity – dared to let himself behave in such a manner. A hunter who should feel _graced_ to even be allowed within a hundred meters of the god of the moon and his flock of huntresses.

He _is_ graced, he knows he is. To get the opportunity to hunt with the divinely blessed and most skilled hunters in all of creation. To be comrades with them all. To be accepted though he is different. Especially seeing as he has not and will not take their vow. And he's further blessed to be closer to their leader than anyone.  
Well, anyone save the god’s twin, Anael. She, goddess of the sun, with her fiery red hair and fervent, passionate emotions is totally juxtaposed to her twin’s closely guarded ones. But Dean was privy to them – shared in them even. Was given trust of the god’s closest secrets and most sacred moments.

By Zeus, how he craved those moments. Where gentle touches indicated closeness, sent quiet shivers down his spine which differed from the dark excitement he got when those touches were signals during the exhilaration of the hunt. The thoughts he had during those quiet sweepings of skin across skin …

Were dangerous. Were abominable. How could he deign to think such things about his best friend who trusted him to not be so offensive in the vicinity of himself and his huntresses?

Dean put himself at risk every time he slipped up and allowed his filter to fall. He let his friend down every time he entertained the ideas fueled by the attractive nature of his dearest companion.

Castiel, god of the moon and the hunt; who radiated brightness and the glimmering air of a living celestial body. His laugh was dark and, Dean was sure, the sound a comet made as it shot across the heavens. He was unrivaled in archery and tracking, and second only to Athena in strategy. Like his twin, he held a rebellious streak and was admirable for his strength, perseverance, and bravery, while lamented for his cheekiness, heated temper, and unattainable beauty.

Many a mortal found themselves pining away over the virgin god who wanted nothing to do with them. So much so that recently, the phrase “mooning” had been coined to describe this moping sort of longing.*

Dean had begun mooning, he’d realized. But it was without the hope that the humans held. He called himself unworthy of any affection shown to him by the god, no matter the form. Their friendship was only started, Dean felt, because Castiel could respect his tremendous hunting skill and then continued when the god became interested in how entertaining the hunter turned out to be.  
Dean had no right to love or be loved by a god – least of all this one.

Castiel’s virginal nature in no way implied naïveté. His knowledge of the wicked ways of the humans who would lust after him was one of his initial reasons for requesting his father to allow him eternal virginity in the first place. There were, however, reasons behind the reason; Zeus’s “granting” of this request was merely making Castiel’s lack of desire for sexual activity. It provided something that could not be argued by anyone unless they sought death or fierce punishment.

When Cas had become the patron god of asexuals, he had been elated, and he recounted the tale to Dean often. Dean never minded hearing it for the sheer ecstasy that spread across his friend’s face as he retold the story for the umpteenth time. Dean had not been there to witness the initial joy of Cas at the first recruits, but he had seen the barely restrained smile and the rosy cheeks that indicated his pleasure at the many huntresses he had acquired since.   
As a form of protection from the wily Grecians who had lied to him before in order to get at his huntresses, Cas forbade men from joining his troupe. That is, until Dean came along.

He’d been injured when Cas found him. Dean had wandered across the ocean half blind, wading through monster-infested waters and treacheries that threatened to drag him to unfathomable depths, as he adjusted to his newly restored eyes. He had eventually found himself upon the isle of Crete where Castiel was hunting. The god helped him heal, nursing him to health, and Dean, upon recovering, had found it necessary to slay the largest buck on the island then bring it home for a feast, as a sacrifice and repayment for the god’s hospitality.

Many years had passed, and as Dean had won favor he found himself constantly in Castiel’s company and a permanent fixture in the hunting party. As his role and importance in Castiel’s life grew, he found himself more and more attached to the deity. He grew slightly jealous, longing to be the only one Castiel trusted in such a way – not realizing that he already was. One morning, he awoke to discover, no, to admit that his feelings were more than petulance; they were love.

And this struck him to his core with fear. He could not love a deity. Certainly not his asexual best friend, too beautiful even for himself, the one that the humans called the most handsome of the earthborn. Dean himself saw no reason for this title to be applied to him. Not when such beauty as Castiel existed; the word should never be applied to anything less.

He couldn’t imagine how Cas would react if he discovered such thoughts from the person he trusted most (aside from Anael). He didn’t want to imagine the hurt, the disgust, the rejection that would mar those features he found so dear. That would hurt worse than any punishment Castiel’s father or Anael could dish. He couldn’t picture Cas punishing him either – that hurt too much to fathom.

But he dropped all his fears as his two favorite, blue nebulas connected with him at a turn of the head.

“Dean?” asked Castiel in a lilting, curious, smile of a voice. Dean lived to hear his name fall from those lips.

“Yeah, Cas?” he nudged the god with his shoulder.

“Is my face particularly interesting today?” Cas asked with the barest hint of a hidden grin.

Dean blushed, it was true, he’d been staring at Cas all day and had found it especially hard to tear himself away and focus on their (glowingly successful) hunt. But could you blame him? It was a blue moon that evening – one the two friends were currently sitting under, basking in. Harvest moons were nothing in comparison to blue moons, in Dean’s opinion and harvest was his favorite time of year. Cas always got the most gorgeous glow about him during the week of a blue moon. They were something special. His eyes emanated a more fiercely blue light than normal and a matching nearly-halo hung about his head. His smile always seemed to come more easily during the blue moon.

“You’re smiling a lot today,” the hunter said to cover his embarrassment, taking his latest thought and running with it.

Cas turned his face back to the sky, smile flashing across his features, “Well my day has been rather pleasing … it’s a blue moon, I’m sitting here with you, our hunt was successful, thanks to your impeccable listening skills – and by the stars, Dean,” he interrupted himself, “you know me so well that at this point you hunt with me better than Anael does.”

“Please, my liege,” he used a formal title to joke with and peeve the god, “don’t tell her. She’ll flay me alive and leave me to the eagles with Prometheus.”

Castiel threw his head back and laughed. The moonlight caught on his throat as his Adam’s apple bobbed. Starlight flickered softly beyond the outline of his head.

Fuck, he was so beautiful.

“You’re so beautiful,” Cas intoned. Dean was focused so completely on observing the vision of the god before him that he hadn’t noticed his friend had rotated to face him again, and was returning his gaze.

Dean was startled to hear his own thoughts voiced by the object of his focus.

“What?”

“The moonlight – the way it shines on your face. It makes your freckles look like stars.” Dean blushed deeply and Cas continued teasingly, “And blushing only adds to the effect,” he paused, “The blue light reflects so well in your eyes …”

“I can only credit that to you and your glory,” he nervously deflected the compliment, “You are after all, its embodiment. It merely reflects your radiance.”

“Your natural beauty lies beneath it, though, and I cannot be credited for that.”

Dean became flustered at the affectionate remarks. They were things he so desperately wanted to hear but couldn’t possibly hope to take in the context he desired. Unsure what to do with himself he dipped his head in shyness – a emotion so foreign to him, but Cas was an exception when it came to what he felt.   
Cas was always the exception.

His downturned glance shifted to where Cas had begun to grip his upper arm, “Dean?” His hand rested just beneath the scar which marked the place Cas has healed him all those years ago when they first met, which meant he was reaching across Dean’s body and his face was centimeters from Dean’s. Dean didn’t dare look up but then Cas asked again with a more urgent edge, “Dean?” and like always, his own gaze was drawn to those captivating nebulas. Cas minutely parted his lips as if about to say something but stopped before the words escaped his throat. Dean couldn’t keep from giving the plush, pale mouth a brief glance and Cas stole that moment to lean forward and kiss his hunter.

Dean was breathless, couldn’t fathom a less likely occurrence, nor one he desired more, and reciprocated with all the force of his pent up yearning.

Why hadn’t he found a way to let this happen before?

Oh.

He returned to himself upon his realization. Horrified at his actions, he tried to draw back from Cas so he could scramble away and never again defile a being who deserved so much more than anything he could provide. But Cas reined him in with a tug at the arm he still gripped and a caress to his face with his free hand. He peered into Dean, into his very _soul_ Dean was sure, and leaned back in for another. Dean couldn’t do more than passively accept and accommodate for Cas’s mouth against his own, afraid of doing anything else. But Cas was persistent; tilting his own body so that he now straddled and hovered over Dean’s lap. Dean’s face tilted up towards the deity with the supplication and gravity that Cas always drew from him.  

“P-Please Cas,” they stole fast kisses from each other, “Stop me,” the hunter begged, only met with more kisses. _Don’t let me reciprocate anymore_ , he prayed silently. “I can’t-I couldn’t live with myself, if I – Cas, I can’t do this to you,” Cas ceased the kisses to hold his face close, then growled and furrowed his brow, pushing Dean onto his back and sitting astride the hunter’s stomach.  
He pushed and held Dean’s shoulders to the grass. “Do you think me a bashful, simpering child with no mind of my own? That I would allow myself to be in a position without any degree of power or control?”

The holy terror Dean had held at the beginning of this encounter re-flooded his veins, seeing divine wrath perched in the blue orbs above him. “N-No Cas! NO! Never! You know I respect you, and your might is unquestioned! But it’s –“

“What, _Dean_?” Cas leaned in and pressed gently at his lips, in contrast to the harsh and accusing tone in his voice.

“That’s why I can’t – can’t do this. Can’t seduce you, uggh, can’t give in to how bad I want you,” he shuddered as Cas kissed him again, “Won’t be able to ever stop kissing you if you don’t first. Your vows –“

“My chastity will stay wholly intact,” he declared, “You underestimate yourself, Dean. You underestimate me and my power.”

“No, never,” Dean whispered, eyes squeezed tightly shut, trying to constrict the conflicting emotions and negate anything that could lead to his body’s arousal at being held beneath Castiel. He never meant to reveal his feelings. Didn’t want Castiel to feel pity for him or drive him away. But this was _worse_ – the situation appeared as though the god felt a sense of obligation towards Dean. This wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted his friend to be the god he was born to be. He couldn’t let him give that up. He couldn’t take that away from him.

“My lack of sexual desire does not inhibit my experiencing romantic attraction.” A kiss to Dean’s cheek. “A sentiment I have retained for you for a long time now, and if I’m not mistaken, so have you.” Dean nodded after Cas’s lips drew away from the other side of his face. “You fear seducing me –“

“Cas-“

“-but you fail to take into account my pre-existing inclinations.” Dean sucked in a breath as Cas relaxed his furrowed brow with a kiss. “I fell in love with you when I first found you lying wounded and you looked up at me with those beautiful, perfect eyes of yours and in your expression read – reflected – exactly what I felt inside.

“You and I will refrain from behavior that would break my vows or lack of certain physical desires. But kissing does not,” he pressed his lips to the hunters and spoke against them, “warrant reproach. Do you understand?”

Dean, nodded, eyes still squeezed shut. He could never hurt Cas – he knew that. He was too afraid of how much trust the god was placing on him to even come anywhere near the line he was so petrified to cross. He knew how Cas felt about such acts and he wouldn’t ever betray his friend in such an offensive manner.

He could trust himself with this.  
He said this not fully believing himself, but finding it imperative that he say this and try to believe.  
For who was he to deny a god? It was kissing, he could lose himself in the kissing; let it absorb him as he just soaked in _Cas_.

His arousal was kept at bay and eventually forgotten with sheer willpower and his stalwart ability to ignore how he felt and focus on the wants of others - something Cas often chastised him for.

 He was left languidly kissing the god above him. Lips slowly pressing against each other, as matching smiles began to spread on their faces, until they couldn’t continue anymore because their grins were too big. And when Dean began laughing at the absurdity of the thought that had caused his fears – that he could do anything by force that would make Cas go against his own will – Cas had to get off his shaking chest so he didn’t suffocate the hunter. He lay on his side, beaming, and watched until Dean’s laughter subsided and he could open his eyes and meet the god’s own gaze once more with a matching smile.

He began to draw Cas in for a rib-crushing (well, for mortal standards) hug but hesitated. Cas sensed his dilemma and its cause, “It means more to me than you will ever know that you are so concerned with my level of comfort in our interactions. And I only trust you more because of it.”

“I’m terrified that you do.” His own brutal honesty would have sucked the air out of him were Cas not already making an attempt at doing so.

“If you’ll recall, I’m an all-powerful god. Though your exceptional strength is revered by men, you can do me no harm even if you could bring yourself to try.” He kissed the corner of the hunter’s mouth, “But I know you don’t want to.”

Dean gave a hum of contentment at being understood so well and was silent for a moment before clearing his throat, “What – what do you …”

“Be direct, Dean. You always have been, before and I cherish it.”

“… What are you … comfortable with?”

Cas gave him an adoring smile, “Kissing,” he pressed one in example to Dean’s nose, “holding hands,” he lifted where their palms had been clasped for an indeterminable amount of time. Cas placed a kiss there as well.

“Could I … hold _you_?”

Fuck, that sounded needy. What if Cas got offended? What if he embarrassed Cas by asking? He should just be content with the hand holding and the kissing. Kissing was good. Kissing Cas was fantastic, and –

Cas beamed at him, with a brightness to rival his father’s lightning bolts, or the moon they were sitting beneath. He gently nudged Dean back to the ground on his back and tucked himself against the hunter’s side. They lay in each other’s embrace, content to watch the blue moon make its way across the heavens to the sounds of quiet breathing and matching heartbeats.

In the cool night air, with Aura’s winds bringing the scent of wildflowers and dew, they found themselves dozing easily. And that night, Dean fell asleep to the strange thought that from now on he would go to bed with the moon in his arms.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> *I have no idea where the word mooning comes from. I tried to research it but I didn’t get anything immediately and it was in the middle of the story and I just wanted to finish typing it, so I’m sorry for the questionable info, but I thought it was a cool idea so I included it.
> 
> Asexual Cas is so important and I just about died when I realized the parallels in this pairing and AU so I couldn't resist twisting their story to suit myself.
> 
> I’m interested in taking requests for other works in the series so if you’ve got suggestions lay ‘em on me and I’ll see if they strike my fancy. 
> 
> Exits are to your left, your right, and your rear, restrooms are to the front, Kudos and comments are found below, and as always very appreciated. Thank you for flying Air fem-castielnovak.


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